


The Stream

by elinorofealdor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinorofealdor/pseuds/elinorofealdor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot (for now) of Sherlock and Maelin giving in to unexpected temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stream

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that damn Mr. Darcy photo of Benedict...

Sherlock huffed as he clamoured out of the stream. He tried to remain composed, but the weight of his utterly soaked long coat unbalanced his gait. He reached the shore and turned back to the water, Maelin still laughing in the center of the stream.   
“This is not amusing,” he said, then shook his head a few times like a wet dog, finally running his hands through his hair to slick it back.  
“You’re a terrible liar sometimes,” she replied between giggles.  
“Right then.” Sherlock stripped off his coat and jacket. He then pulled off his belt, shoes and socks, setting them beside his other clothes on a boulder where Maelin’s boots also sat. As he started to undo the top buttons on his shirt, Maelin took a step toward him.   
“What are you doing?”  
Sherlock eyed her as he undid buttons to halfway down his chest. His predatory gaze unnerved her, but there was a tingle of enticement attached to it. “Prepare,” he growled as he moved back into the water.  
She took a couple steps back. At its deepest, the water only hit her collarbone and Sherlock’s upper torso.   
“Sherlock, what are you doing?” She tried again.  
He was a foot away from her now, and stopped. He gazed down at her, the predatory look remaining.   
“Strip,” he commanded.  
She blinked a few times, almost laughing. “What?”  
“Your clothes. Take them off. Now.”  
Maelin managed to control her breathing but her pulse was pounding. She could feel it in her throat. A little gleam of mischief in Sherlock’s expression made her think he could see it.   
“Do it,” he said. “Or I will. And I won’t be so careful as to ensure you can put them on again.”  
Maelin swallowed. This was not going in the direction she intended.   
On the opposite side of the stream was an embankment which dropped off from a nearby trail. The whole area was secluded, yet beautiful. Ferns and wildflowers grew along beside the large rocks and grassy paths which led off from the other bank of the stream. When she nearly stumbled right into the stream from the drop off, having been on a walk with Sherlock which was more about gathering and assessing evidence than anything, she couldn’t resist the opportunity for a playful row. He’d been too serious of late. Too moody, and she couldn’t discern why (and of course he wouldn’t tell her). It was more than still dealing with post-John 221B life. Even more than the aftermath of Magnussen and being called back from a suicide mission as punishment for Sherlock’s ‘crime.’ Even more than adjusting to the two of them basically cohabitating. She thought this stunt might take him out of his head for a bit. Surprise him, pull him into the water, splash and slap and kiss a bit, and try to get him to loosen up. It seemed to be working, but not how she planned.   
As soon as he came up from being tugged into the water, Maelin knew she’d made the wrong call. Well, she thought she had. Things might not be going how she planned, but it seemed there was another method for drawing out Sherlock presenting itself.   
Maelin crossed her arms at her waist and tugged off her wine-colored boatneck sweater and tank top beneath it. She held them out toward Sherlock with one hand while her other slicked back her hair. Sherlock took them, balled them in his hands and tossed them over his shoulder. They landed with a splat on shore, directly on his coat.  
Maelin gave a half smile, impressed.  
“Lucky toss,” Sherlock said, his gaze still penetrating her.  
“Lying again,” she smiled, reaching down under the water to undo her skinny belt. She pulled it off and handed it to him. He held onto it while she unzipped her rear zipping pants and worked them off. She struggled to keep her knickers from coming off with the trousers, not that she thought they would remain much longer. Finally pulling her foot free of the pants leg, she held the soaked mass of brown trousers out. Sherlock Snagged them, balled them one-handed, and tossed them as he had her shirts and they landed in the same place.   
Maelin glanced to the belt, then back to Sherlock. He kept his eyes fixed on her face, and shook his head.   
“Sherlock,” she whispered.  
“I will not harm you,” he said firmly.   
“Then what?”  
He crooked his finger and she carefully stepped closer. Their faces inches from one another as the breeze blew lightly around them. Maelin’s already hardening nipples strained against the fabric of her bra. Sherlock’s dark look was replaced with one of pure mischief. He looped the belt once, holding both ends in his hand. He ran the wet leather across her chest, over her bra. Then, he trailed it down her waist, then her thigh.   
Maelin gasped as he placed a firm hand on her hip.   
“Stay still,” he ordered, bringing the belt around the front of one thigh.   
She bit her tongue, and nodded. He ran the belt between her legs, slowly, teasingly, just below her most sensitive area which had started to throb with desire. Drawing the belt up, his free hand shifted around her hip to the small of her back. He reached down and in a swift motion grasped the looped end of the belt and raised it up to rub against the material of her panties.  
Maelin whimpered, trying to remain still as commanded. Sherlock slowly drew his hands in a see-saw motion, rubbing the thin strap of wet leather along her knickers. She closed her eyes and he pulled sharply up on the belt.  
Her eyes flew open.   
“Look at me,” he said. He released the looped end of the belt, easing it from between her legs, then threw it like a whip onto shore. He took her by the shoulders, bringing them a few steps closer to shore.   
She never broke eye contact with him, and when he stopped their progress his eyes flashed with adoration. He leaned in and kissed her, keeping their bodies a few inches apart. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tried to reach her hands for him. He gripped one and held it at her side, but the other he took and drew to the waistband of his trousers. He led her hand down the front, his cock rock hard and straining.   
He broke the kiss, and when Maelin opened her eyes his look made her mouth water.   
“Look what you’ve done.” His voice was deep, husky with desire.   
Maelin moved her hand beneath his, stroking him through the fabric of his trousers. From watching his drenched form walk to shore before she knew he wasn’t wearing underwear. She smiled coyly. He expected her to speak, but she just licked her lips.   
He pulled her into his arms, grasping her lower back to press them together so his erection rubbed her stomach.   
“I will only say this once,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “I am sorry for my behaviour lately. Tomorrow I will tell you my reasons for it.”  
The question hung in silence between them.   
“Tomorrow,” Sherlock continued, “our casework will resume, and I will explain the circumstances causing my moods of late. I believe you sought to tempt my body away from my mind, to distract me for a time so I would divulge my mind to you after. You should know me better.”  
He slid one hand up her arm, ran it along her collarbone, then up to cup her face. “You should have asked.”  
He kissed her, a kiss of warmth and softness, before sliding his hand down to palm one of her breasts. He massaged it as he broke from the kiss. “Now, however,” he almost purred in her ear. “You have tempted me beyond distraction. For the rest of the day, I intend to extract every pleasure I can devise from you.”  
Without warning, he hoisted her off the sandy-bottomed streambed. Maelin instinctively hooked her legs around his hips. She wrapped her arms around him, nipping his neck before whispering, “Do it.”  
Sherlock grunted as she rocked her hips forward, pressing into his erection. It pushed against the thin, wet material of her knickers. She slowly moved against him, sliding her folds along his constricted shaft. With one hand, Sherlock undid his fly and tugged himself free. He shifted the material separating them and she sank down onto his shaft.   
“Fuck,” he moaned as her wetness enveloped him.   
The expletive, so rare from his lips, made Maelin shudder with desire, her inner walls clenching him, pulling him deeper inside her. Carefully, Sherlock backed toward shore, Maelin keeping her legs locked around him. He came up against a boulder and spun around, pressing Maelin against it. She was leaning back slightly on the smooth rock and loosed her legs slightly.   
As soon as his lips met hers, he rocked his hips forward and began thrusting slow and deep. Maelin ran her hands over his chest, the wet material of his shirt sliding with her fingers. Sherlock’s strokes were slow, deliberate. She wanted to spur him on, entice him to go faster, and yet the sensations she experienced were so erotic not reveling in them seemed a crime. As she let herself go, accepting Sherlock’s control in the pace of their lovemaking, she became more attuned to his responses to her touch. Every moan or murmur in her ear increased her desire. The first time his fingers slipped between her folds to massage her clit, she came and he grunted his approval. Somehow he kept her on a plateau of ecstasy with his caresses, kisses, and controlled thrusts. When he finally pulled her up against his chest and came buried inside her, Maelin felt her nipples rub his bare chest and could not remember when her bra came off.   
The words he whispered in her ear as he came brought her another release, her fourth at least though she could not be certain, her pussy milking every drop of his seed.   
“Sherlock,” she moaned, trembling in his arms.   
He kissed her neck, every touch of his lips deliberate. Even as she came down from her high, his touch was sparking new desire. He eased out of her but did not stop his caresses with his fingers or lips. She shifted her legs, easing her feet to standing. Almost as soon as her feet hit the ground, she sank to her knees. Her mouth dove onto his semi-hard cock, sucking their juices off as she worked him back to full hardness. His hands fisted in her damp hair and now he was the one who struggled to remain still, letting her mouth, tongue, and fingers work him into a frenzy. His breathing became laboured, his moans more intense. When she finally stood up, he spun her around in a flash and buried himself inside her as she bent over, leaning against the rock. There was nothing slow or deliberate this time. As he pounded into her, his balls slapping against her, the sound gave Maelin her first recall of where they were, that they could be heard and found should anyone be going through these woods on a stroll. One of Sherlock’s hands found its way around and down from her hip to stroke her clit, and as her orgasm took her, she found she didn’t care if they were caught.   
She smiled to herself, her head resting on her arms against the boulder. Better than any of Janine’s fantasies.  
When Sherlock came again, they had discarded her knickers and his trousers and moved fully onto the shore, Sherlock’s coat serving as bed. He roared his release and as soon as he was spent, he pulled out and shifted his body, his face diving between her legs. He ate her to a screaming orgasm, then kissed his way up her body before collapsing on top of her.  
She slid her hands across his back and grinned. “I like that the shirt stayed on,” she murmured in his ear.  
He chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that made her throb with satisfaction.  
‘I think I may need food… or a drink. Or both,” she said, still running her hands across his body. “Though I’m not sure I can walk.”  
Sherlock’s chuckle turned into a laugh, pure and melodic. He pressed himself up, then stood, holding his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her up.  
“Well?” He asked, smiling.   
She bounced tentatively on the balls of her feet. “I think maybe. But, um…” She looked down at her naked body, then glanced to him, naked save the white dress shirt clinging to him.  
“I see nothing amiss,” he mused.  
“Shut it, or I’ll pull you into the water again,” she smiled.


End file.
